


I'm For You

by kaleinope



Series: Neither Here Nor There [1]
Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Developing Relationship, I'm literally a piece of trash, M/M, Oneshot, Saphael, Sexual Content, Smut, The Gray Area, aromantic Raphael, did I mention I actually wrote smut, lots of swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 14:41:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6614611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaleinope/pseuds/kaleinope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>“Well,</em> fuck <em>me.”</em></p><p>Simon falls hard and fast, and finds himself in a relationship he can't even begin to describe. Raphael isn't the easiest to be in love with.<br/>The progression of Raphael and Simon's relationship, set within 'The Gray Area' universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm For You

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is- that Saphael oneshot I promised! You'll notice I do a lot of time-jumping in this one, for the sake of this being a oneshot. Please forgive me xD  
> This is a companion story to 'The Gray Area', a Malec AU I'm currently working on. This can, however, be read on its own :)
> 
> Enjoy!

The first time Simon met Raphael, his brain came to an immediate halt and all he managed to say was:

“Well, _fuck_ me.”

It took him about a minute to process that this came across as highly inappropriate, and he stumbled over his words in an attempt to recover.

“Uh. I mean.” was all he could say, before promptly dying a little inside.

He'd come to the NYU campus to scope it out (mostly to keep his mother happy), and to make sure it was a good first choice, as far as campuses went. He'd just left the music building, mind on the coffee shop he'd seen earlier- only to collide with another student, and proceed to embarrass himself. That certainly hadn't been on the agenda for the day.

And the student was so handsome Simon felt momentarily incapable of any kind of higher thought process.

To his credit, the handsome student smiled (goddamn, who in hell had perfect white teeth like that?).

“If you insist.” he said, smoothly. His voice was low, and husky, and doing wonderful things for Simon's imagination. “Although, this really isn't the place.”

“Um.” Simon exhaled in a breathy sort of laugh. “Sorry for walking into you, like that.”

“Is this how you always flirt with guys?” the student cocked an eyebrow. “By knocking them over and demanding they fuck you.”

“Well, you know. Only on Tuesdays.”

The man laughed, and his gaze swept over Simon's uniform. “A St Xavier student.”

“Yeah,” Simon adjusted his tie self-consciously (it was always skew and a little loose, no matter what he did), “Just...checking the campus out, you know. For next year.” He held out his hand, realizing he probably needed to introduce himself. “Name's Simon.”

“Raphael.” The student said, and shook his hand. He had a firm grip.

“Raphael.” Simon echoed, the name rolling off of his tongue in a sweet, easy way. “Are you a music student?”

“No.” He wasn't sure Raphael could be more vague.

“Are you a _student?_ ” Simon hoped to god that he was. He wasn't going to ask a _professor_ out- because, if he was being honest, he _was_ on the verge of asking Raphael for a date.

“I am.” Raphael grinned, and it was sharp, and it may have seemed harsh if he wasn't so damned attractive.

Simon considered asking what  it was that he studied, but he knew that might  have just  satisfied Raphael. He was clearly enjoying dancing around the subject.

“So, can I take you up on your offer?” Raphael was asking.

“Huh?”

“To sleep with you, of course.” Raphael said.

“Oh.” Simon fought to maintain his composure; it was a real challenge. “Yeah. But, you're going to have to buy me dinner first.”

Raphael cocked his head, like he was thinking it over, but his gaze on Simon made him feel...hunted.

He couldn't say that he minded, all that much.

“Seems fair.” Raphael said.

“Cool.” Simon grinned- until he realized he probably looked goofy and dazed. The grin subsided into a more subtle smile. “Is this the part where we exchange numbers?”

“You tell me.”

“Are you seriously trying to be coy?”

“Maybe.” The predatory grin was back. “Or maybe this is just what I'm like.”

Simon wasn't entirely sure what he was getting himself into.

* * *

 

“You know, I was mostly kidding about the dinner thing.” Simon adjusted the silverware nervously, eyes trained on the tablecloth that he was fairly sure cost more than his house. “You didn't have to bring me to such a fancy place.”

“No?” Raphael leaned forward with his elbows on the table, an eyebrow cocked deliciously. “I thought you'd have appreciated the gesture.”

“I _do_. I'm just a Jew of simple tastes, you know. Heh.” Simon was babbling; he tended to do that when he was surrounded by suffocating opulence.

“Relax, Simon.” Raphael said. “I bring all of my friends here.”

This was only mildly comforting. Simon didn't completely think  _friends_ was the right word, considering their setup. They were on a date. Strangers on a date.

Strangers who wanted to fuck each other on a date.

Simon supposed it'd be a good idea to change the  _stranger_ aspect in that equation.

“Friends, huh?” He fidgeted with the dessert spoon. “Guess that means we should probably get to know each other a little better.”

“I thought that was the point of tonight?” Raphael looked to be suppressing a smirk. “Not that it makes much of a difference.”

“What do you mean?”

“The end of tonight is going to turn out the same way, regardless. We're undeniably attracted to one another.”

Good god, Simon was nonplussed. Raphael was _right_ \- so right- but, still. Simon had never met anyone who thought quite like Raphael did.

“Does this mean you're not going to tell me about yourself?” Simon asked, unsure.

“Now, I didn't necessarily say that.” Raphael said, but his implications were clear enough.

“Aha.” Simon breathed out, reached for his glass of water. He stared ruminatively at the tablecloth (again) as he took a long sip. He supposed he'd have to ask all the questions or, alternatively, spend the whole night talking about himself. He was leaning towards the former.

“What's going through that head of yours?” Raphael's voice prompted him to look up again- and that's when he noticed it. A silver chain glinted around Raphael's neck; Simon could just see the beginnings of a small cross hanging at the end of it, resting against Raphael's collarbone.

“You're Catholic?” he asked, instantly curious.

“Born and raised.” Raphael lifted his menu. “What are you going to order?”

“Anything vegetarian.” he hesitated. “It's not a problem that I'm...not Catholic, right?”

Simon was trying to imply a lot of things with his question.

“Well, I could ask you if it's a problem that _I'm_ not _Jewish_.” Raphael said. “But you don't have a problem with that, do you.” It was more of a statement, than anything else.

“Right. Yeah.” Simon felt stupid for asking.

Raphael shook his head, smiling like he had a secret. “Ask me something else. I know you want to.”

“Um. Okay.” Simon shifted his chair forward, just an inch. “What are you studying?”

“I'm majoring in classical literature.”

Simon let out a soft whistle. “I'm impressed.”

Raphael simply rolled his eyes.

“Okay, next question.” Simon went on. “Why literature?”

“Why not?”

“Fair enough.” It was difficult to come up with questions that weren't generic. “How old are you?”

“I'm twenty. I am also bored of this inquiry now, so,” Raphael drawled, “your turn to talk about yourself.”

“That's not fair.” Simon protested. “I should make you work hard, too. You should have to come up with questions to ask me.”

“You can make me do all the hard work later.” Raphael's words were barely above a murmur. Simon practically choked on thin air.

“I, uh,” he adjusted himself, sitting up straighter. “I will.”

“Good.” Raphael tapped his fingers against the table. “Now. Tell me what makes you tick.”

“I'm really not that interesting.” Simon began, awkwardly. “I like gaming, and things like _Star Wars_ and-” he paused. “I don't suppose you have similar interests?”

“Not really, but do go on.”

“I'm...I like music, a lot. The good stuff- alternative rock, indie.” he grinned sheepishly, now. “I'm in a band, actually.”

“Oh?” The corners of Raphael's mouth twitched. “And, what does this band call itself?”

“At the moment, we're Champagne Enema.” Simon said. “That's, uh, subject to change, though.”

“Interesting.”

“Do you like any music?”

“I suppose.” Raphael lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “I'm more of a poetry fan, myself.”

“Of course you are.” Simon's grin was getting wider. “You gonna recite something for me?”

“Mm, you haven't quite earned that, yet.”

“How hard am I going to have to work for that?” Simon asked.

“It's going to take you years and years.” Raphael made a dismissive gesture. “Honestly, I wouldn't even try.”

“I think I might like to try anything, for you.” Simon said, without really thinking it through.

Raphael's eyes gleamed. “Would you, now?”

* * *

 

“Yes, yes, _yes.”_ Simon's words were jolted, breathless, and being repeated like a mantra as Raphael fucked into him. His hands were lost in Raphael's dark curls- pulling desperately, clutching. Raphael had his face tucked into Simon's neck, responding to his noises with biting kisses (he liked to bite). Simon rocked his hips downwards as Raphael rutted into him, none too gently; the movements made Raphael go deeper, and oh god that's what Simon _needed,_ what he was begging for-

“M'so close,” Simon managed, sliding his hands from Raphael's hair to grip at his shoulders. His fingers dug into brown skin, leaving pale crescent indents. “ _Raphael_.”

“Not yet.” Raphael murmured, biting at a spot just beneath Simon's jaw. “I am not done with you yet.”

“Please.” Simon whimpered.

“You want more, don't you?” Raphael flipped them over, suddenly, before Simon could even think to respond. He found himself on his back, pressed into the cold sheets (which was a welcome feeling against his overheating body). Raphael was hovering over him.

“Hey,” Simon protested, “I like riding you.”

Raphael's response was a low chuckle, and he started to thrust into Simon with smooth, calculated, _hard_ movements. Simon's legs were hitched over Raphael's shoulders, spreading him wider.

“Please,” Simon repeated, in a moan.

“Hm?” Raphael hummed, sliding his hands along Simon's hips. Simon would've punched him square in the jaw if he wasn't so _devastatingly sexy_ ; lips parted, staring down at Simon with glazed eyes as he fucked him- as he _made Simon fall to pieces._ And he did all this with a smirk, like it was the easiest, most natural thing in the world.

“ _Oh_.” Simon's back arched off the bed. Raphael's cock was moving against his prostate with expert precision. “I can't-”

“Then come for me.” Raphael said- low, husky- and he wrapped his fingers around Simon's twitching erection to stroke him in time with his thrusts.

Simon fell apart, spilling into Raphael's hand with a shuddering exhale.

Raphael tensed up, muttered “ _D_ _ios”_ , and thrust one last time, pressed right up against Simon. He bit down into the large bruise on Simon's neck, flicking his tongue against the sensitive skin. A second later Simon felt him pull out; he lifted his head to watch him. The condom was taken off, tied up, and tossed into the bin like it was a routine.

Which, Simon realized, it actually was.

“Man, second rounds are always the best.” Simon said around a yawn. Raphael settled on the bed next to him.

“Quite.” he said. “You should go to sleep.”  
“Nah, I'm fine.” Simon rolled onto his side, so they could face each other. “I'm not that tired.”

“No, I don't want to hear this. You have band practice in the morning, and I am not putting up with you complaining about getting up early.”

“But-”

“Sleep. Now.” Raphael ordered. He turned off the bedside lamp and lay down. Simon kept to his side of the bed- he knew post-sex cuddling wasn't a thing with Raphael.

They'd been seeing each other (Simon supposed he could call it that) for several months already. The months in question had flown by. And Simon loved what they had- it was familiar, and fun, and sexy and mostly comfortable.

But a lot of the times, like when he had to resist spooning Raphael, he didn't really know where their relationship stood.

“Good night.” he murmured.

* * *

 

“You won't get a drop of affection out of Raphael.” the man announced. “Sex, yes. Cuddles? You'd have better luck with a rabid dog.”

“Uh, okay.” Simon eyed the stranger warily, shifted in his seat. “Who are you?”

“Ragnor Fell.”

Simon recognized the name- remembered it vaguely from a conversation with Raphael.

“Oh, is this _your_ party?” He gestured to the mass of sweaty, grinding bodies that created a wall in front of them, blocking the rest of the high-end loft from his view.

“Mine?” Ragnor scoffed. “No. But I do know the host very well- same goes for your Raphael.”

“I, well,” Simon wasn't sure what to say. “Why'd you...”

“I saw the way you were watching him.” Ragnor nodded towards Raphael, who was in the process of retrieving drinks. “I'm all too familiar with that look in your eyes. And I'm giving you fair warning: whatever you feel for him, don't expect too much.”

“Okay...” Simon said. “But-”

“Are you scaring kids with your war tales again, Old Man?” Raphael addressed Ragnor, and placed a cobalt blue drink in Simon's hands.

“I'll have you know I'm not much older than you.” Ragnor said coolly, turning his head to the side to say to Simon: “I'm twenty-four. He knows I'm twenty-four.”

“How do you two know each other, again?” Simon asked.

“We're _best_ friends.” Ragnor said laconically, in a tone that said he really wasn't very fond of Raphael at all.

Then again, if he was anything like Raphael, his 'not fond' could be interpreted as 'I have feelings in my heart for you, but I can't express them because I have no idea how to do so'. Or something along those lines. Simon was just guessing.

“I didn't know you _had_ a best friend.” Simon said, teasing, and Raphael pinched him in the arm.

A minute later, Raphael and Ragnor had launched into a conversation about someone (the host, Simon assumed, as they were making comments like 'he's overdone himself again' and 'who does the man think he is- Gatsby?'). Simon slumped into his chair and sipped at his cocktail, keeping to himself. That is, until a whirlwind of white hair descended on their table, startling him.

“Hellooo,” the whirlwind attached itself to Ragnor, regarded Simon with wide, dark eyes. It took Simon a second to take in that the white-haired blur was actually a woman, and (from the way she'd settled in Ragnor's lap) she could have been Ragnor's girlfriend.

“Hey.” Simon said. “I'm Simon.”

“Catarina.” The woman introduced herself with a smile. Ragnor pressed a kiss to Catarina's neck, lips lingering against the smooth expanse of brown skin; Simon found that he had to look away. He wasn't used to PDA. It wasn't something he and Raphael ever _did_ , so it seemed surreal when other couples engaged in it.

“Come dance with me, Ragnor.” she was tugging at Ragnor's arm. “It isn't fun alone.”

“Why don't you just ask Mag-”

“ _Come.”_

They were gone a split-second after that, and Simon and Raphael were left alone.

“Your friends seem great.” Simon said, really meaning it. “Did you...also want to dance?”

Raphael's dark gaze flicked up from his drink. “Hm? No. Not really.”

Simon would have liked to dance.

* * *

 

“Do you want to do something tonight?” Simon held the phone in one hand, fiddled with his guitar strings with the other. The guitar was lying across Simon's bed, set aside after hours of practice.

“I'm still sore from the _last_ time,” Raphael said, and his voice was still crisp and handsome, even over the phone, “you know. When you fucked me into the wall.”

That had been last night.  
“Right, right,” a dark flush crept up Simon's neck. “But I didn't mean sex. We could watch a movie, or something.”

“We could.” Raphael sounded idle.

“So, how about it? Maybe we should watch a series instead. I can bring over the first season of _Game of Thrones_? Remember, you said you might like to-”

“Another time, maybe.” Raphael said. “I have an essay due for the end of the week, and I'd like to get it done.”

“Oh. Sure.” Simon couldn't help but feel like he was being a nuisance; it was a horribly tight feeling in his chest. “Good luck with your essay, then.”

“Thank you. I'll see you soon.”

“Okay.”

“Goodbye, Simon.”

“Bye. I-”

Raphael hung up.

* * *

 

“Your boyfriend lives _here_?”

Simon and Clary stood outside the Hotel Dumont, necks craning to stare up at the ridiculously large building. Clary's question was incredulous, but also muffled by her knitted green scarf.

“Yeah. His family owns the place.” Simon explained. “Also, he doesn't like the word 'boyfriend', so don't say that in front of him.”

Clary's brow crinkled in a frown. “Why not?”

“I mean, it is what we are,” Simon said, “boyfriends, that is. He just...he doesn't like putting labels on things.”

“That's ridiculous.” Clary stated. “That's literally the most ridiculous...” her words tapered off with a sigh. “Let's just go inside, before my nose falls off.”

“Shit, you're right- it's blue already.” Simon pinched Clary's cold nose between his thumb and forefinger.

“Let go, you're hurting the poor thing.” she muttered, but he could see she was trying not to laugh. They went inside to escape the ice-cold air.

“So where are we going?” she asked as she unwound her scarf and stared around the ridiculously fancy foyer.

“Seventh floor.” Simon was already pressing the button for the elevator. “He has a room there.”

“You come here often?”

“You have no idea.” Simon was not about to have sex under his mother's roof, anytime soon; his and Raphael's 'dates' were restricted to the hotel.

They stepped into the elevator when it arrived. Clary was regarding him curiously.

“Simon.” she said, “This Raphael guy. He's good to you, right?”

“Yeah.” He appreciated Clary's concern- he knew it was just a normal best friend response- but it also wasn't necessary. “If he wasn't, I wouldn't be introducing you to him.”

“Just some of the things you've told me…” she shrugged. “It makes me unsure.”

“'Unsure'?”

“About him. About the relationship you two have.”

“I'm happy. He's happy.” Simon paused. “I think. His emotions can be hard to decipher- but I am getting better at it.”

“Well, as long as _you're_ happy.” Clary said.

“That is such a cliched line.” Simon stepped out onto the seventh floor. “I mean, how often has that line been used? Think about it.”

“Too often.” Clary followed him down the hall. “But that's because it's meaningful.”

“Mhm,” Simon knocked at the door of room 39, and waited for a response.

Raphael yanked the door open. He looked disheveled, tired, and all-together murderous.

“Morning.” Simon greeted, suddenly hesitant. “I, uh,” he gestured to himself and Clary. “We decided to surprise you and take you out for breakfast.”

He wanted to treat Raphael for once. He also wanted him to meet his best friend, and hopefully take a liking to her. That had been the plan- but an exhausted, grumpy Raphael hadn't been factored into that plan.

“I don't like surprises.” Raphael sighed, leaning against the door-frame. “Who's _rojo_ over here?”

“This is my best friend, Clary.”

“Hi.” Clary said.

“The pleasure's yours, I'm sure.” Raphael drawled. “Come in, I guess. I'll be ready to go out in a minute.”

Clary and Simon shuffled over the threshold. Simon almost immediately threw himself onto the familiar couch, and Raphael shut himself in the en-suite bathroom without further ado.

“Don't like him.” Clary said.

“He grows on you.” Simon replied. “He's also not a morning person.”

“If you knew that, why'd you decide to do this breakfast thing?” Clary perched herself on the arm of the couch. “Lunch would've been a better option.”

“Taki's has an early-bird special right now,” Simon justified, “and the waffles are amazing.”

“Jesus, Simon.” Clary sighed. “Waffles aren't worth the _mood_ he's in.”

“One day you'll have a boyfriend that I won't like.” Simon said. “When that day comes, I'll keep my mouth shut.”

“No you won't.”

“You're right. I probably won't.”

Raphael emerged from the bathroom, now dressed sharply in a dark blazer. He adjusted the sleeves and said, “Let's go.”

“I recognize that.” Clary pointed to what Raphael was wearing. “You've worn that before, haven't you, Simon?”

Raphael may have made him wear it, a few times, after Simon had mentioned he liked it. He may have also worn nothing _but_ the blazer while Raphael had fucked into him and whispered things in his ear, and then gone home the next day with the blazer still on, over his own clothes, because he was utterly addicted to Raphael's scent.

“Maybe.” Simon said.

* * *

 

“You know what today is, right?”

Simon and Raphael were lying on opposite ends of the couch, each doing their own thing; Raphael was reading, Simon was scrolling through Tumblr. Simon had broken the silence and nudged his foot against Raphael's to get his attention.

“What?” Raphael indulged him, keeping his eyes on the book.

“Well,” Simon shifted, suddenly nervous. “It's...been a year.”

“Since what?”

“Since we started...dating.”

“Is that what we're doing?” Raphael glanced up, and smirked at Simon's expression. “Relax, I'm messing with you.”

“I can never really tell.” Simon sighed.

“Something tells me you have more to say-”

“Where is this actually going?” Simon blurted. Raphael rolled his eyes.

“There it is.”

“I'm serious.” Simon frowned. “I just. I was trying to be patient, before, and understanding- but I really don't _get you,_ sometimes, no matter how hard I try. You hate any kind of affection, you hate actual _dates-_ I guess what I'm trying to say,” he exhaled slowly, “is how am I ever supposed to tell if you love me or not?”

Wait. Abort abort _abort._

“Simon...” Raphael furrowed his eyebrows. “Do _you_ love me?”

Simon swallowed against a too-large lump in his throat, eyes darting around the room nervously. Screw it. Screw him. Screw his stupid big mouth.

He jumped to his feet and started to pace the lounge, his hands doing a million things in the frame of a second: adjusting his glasses, running through his hair, picking at a tiny piece of loose skin on his thumb.

“Simon.” Raphael repeated.

“Okay, yes,” he said, throwing his hands upwards in a defeated gesture. “I love you.”

Raphael went silent. He seemed to be thinking hard about something.

“So, what now?” Simon tried to keep the desperation out of his voice. “You can't really blame me, can you? It's how I feel, so, just.” he made a small frustrated noise, biting at his knuckles before he could say any more.

“I...” Raphael's lips were searching for words.  
“Do you not love me?” Simon's voice dropped an octave. He'd stopped pacing; he stood in front of Raphael, eyes searching his face.

“I don't...know.” Raphael said, “I'm sorry.”

“Do you think you could figure it out?” Simon tried to keep his voice steady. “For me.”

Raphael hesitated, for a long time. Then, he shook his head stiffly and said: “I honestly can't say.”

“Great. Well. Okay then.” Simon cleared his throat. His eyes were burning. “I'm just...I'm going to go, then.” He moved towards the front door, grabbing for his jacket. He grabbed the wrong one, but he didn't really care. He pulled Raphael's jacket on and fumbled with the front door.

“Simon, wait-”

“I'll see you.” Simon said through a forced smile, and left.

* * *

 

He didn't see Raphael again, after that.

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think <3
> 
> Second part of the series coming soon~


End file.
